


Go Out and Find Ourselves a Home

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: The first time Peter learned about Johnny’s new digs, they’d just finished a fight – or rather, Peter had just finished the fight, because Johnny had passed out on him after a hastily executed fire show and would’ve met a bad end if Peter hadn’t caught him.So now, ranting concrete monster safely in police custody, Peter was sitting on the sidewalk, one arm around Johnny so he didn’t fall over, trying to force him to drink the bottle of water he’d been well and truly price gouged for.





	Go Out and Find Ourselves a Home

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you have an inordinate amount of feelings about your ship having movie dates (Peter Parker, The Spectacular Spider-Man #1) and set out to write a movie dates fic, which this? sort of? is? but then a hundred things unexpectedly happen in canon and you have feelings about them too and they all make it into this.
> 
> I wanted to post this before Marvel Two-In-One happens, and a whole new era of Johnny Being Sad begins (and the Fantastic Four come back). The majority of this fic is set before the collapse of Parker Industries. Goodbye to an era of sugar daddy possibilities I completely wasted! Anyway, have a lot of Peter Parker being oblivious about his feelings, until he isn't.
> 
> A big thanks to Boat for listening to me whine about this so much. ♥!

The first time Peter learned about Johnny’s new digs, they’d just finished a fight – or rather, Peter had just finished the fight, because Johnny had passed out on him after a hastily executed fire show and would’ve met a bad end if Peter hadn’t caught him.

So now, ranting concrete monster safely in police custody, Peter was sitting on the sidewalk, one arm around Johnny so he didn’t fall over, trying to force him to drink the bottle of water he’d been well and truly price gouged for.

“Guy wouldn’t even have his cart if it wasn’t for me, but noooo. $3.50 for water, that’s highway robbery,” he grumbled, rubbing circles on Johnny’s shoulder and pulling him back up when he listed to the side a little. He was pale, almost ashen, and just a little shaky, so Peter shifted so he could support him better. “Drink your highway robbery water, Torch.”

“You have like, a billion dollars,” Johnny mumbled, swallowing another mouthful of water. He made a face. “I’m sort of nauseous here, Spidey, so if I throw up on your stupid new costume…”

“I’ll forgive you this one time,” Peter said, picking the water back up when Johnny tried to put it down. “What’s the matter? You got a bug? I’ve seen you go down before but…”

He broke off with a whistle. Johnny hunched his shoulders a little and didn’t answer. Peter sighed and resumed stroking his shoulder, if only to make himself feel better. It was a beautiful day, if he didn’t look at all the damage from the supervillain fight, and Peter had had it all planned out: head to the office early, get lunch from that sushi place Anna Maria had turned him onto, stop a little street crime. Maybe go for a stroll in Central Park. A walk, even, not a swing.

Now he was sitting on the ground in Columbus Circle, covered in concrete dust, sweaty, exhausted, and getting stared at by tourists.

“What are you looking at, huh?” he snapped at a middle-aged couple in matching cargo shorts who seemed just shy of pulling out their camera phones.

Johnny elbowed him half-heartedly, tipping his head back with a groan as the tourists fled.

“Can you not make my head feel worse, please?” he asked. “I know that’s asking a lot of you.”

“Okay, okay, no yelling at the invasive species,” Peter said. “Hey, c’mon. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Um,” Johnny said. Peter waited for the follow up, but Johnny genuinely seemed to be thinking about it.

“Johnny,” he said. “Seriously. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Wasp brought the team bagels… sometime yesterday?” Johnny hedged, sounding unsure.

“So what you’re telling me is that you haven’t eaten at all today,” Peter said, flat.

“I wasn’t hungry,” Johnny said, closing his eyes.

“No wonder you passed out,” Peter said, throwing the hand not holding onto Johnny up in the air. “Do you know how much energy you must expend flamed on?”

“No,” Johnny muttered. “I’m the _dumb_ one of the Fantastic Four, remember?”

“I thought that was Ben,” Peter said. He didn’t get so much as a snicker, so Johnny was definitely sulking now. Hungry, exhausted, and mad at Peter – great.

Peter sighed and scanned the crowd for someone who looked semi-responsible. His gaze landed on a group of bridesmaids standing off to the side while the bride and groom took pictures in front of the fountain.

“Don’t move, okay?” Peter said to Johnny. He grumbled something Peter hoped was an affirmative.

It didn’t take him long to convince the bridesmaids to be temporary Torchsitters, and then he was jogging across the street to the nearest food cart.

Johnny was surrounded by a sea of mauve satin when he got back, and he looked a little better, even laughing at something one of the bridesmaids said. The Human Torch, sitting on the ground, taking smiling selfies with bridesmaids – what a perfect New York moment.

Someone had found him an energy bar and he was chewing it slowly. Peter could top that.

“Thanks, ladies,” he said, settling down across from Johnny. “But I think you’re ready for your close-ups.”

The bride was standing by the fountain, glaring at Peter. Peter waved at her; she did not wave back. Yet another wedding getting the personal Spider-Man touch.

“Feel better, Johnny!” one of the bridesmaids said as they trooped back towards the waiting wedding party.

“Call me!” shouted another one, winking.

Johnny laughed and waved back, but didn’t pay much attention otherwise. He turned to Peter instead, looking curiously at the food in Peter’s hands.

“What did you bring me?” he asked, reaching out.

“Hey, who said this was for you?” Peter teased, trying to keep the mood light. He pulled the food away, only to surrender it a moment later. “Dirty water dogs. Food of champions. And I got you one of those pretzels you like so much, too. And more water.”

“I’m okay, Peter,” Johnny said, but he’d already devoured half of one hot dog.

“Yeah, but _I’ll_ feel better when you aren’t collapsing all over the place,” Peter said, reaching out to squeeze Johnny’s knee.

That earned him a smile, finally.

Peter just let him eat for a moment, watching as his color improved, and when Johnny had finished the pretzel and half of the water Peter reached out to touch his knee again.

“Why’d you do this to yourself, huh?” he asked. Johnny ducked his head and didn’t answer. “Johnny?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Johnny snapped. “I just – I forget, okay! I’m so used to eating with other people, it just feels like…”

He broke off with a frustrated noise, stuffing a second hot dog into his mouth. Peter waited him out, staring at him from behind the mask.

“I just forgot, okay?” Johnny sighed. “I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

“Okay,” Peter said, squeezing his knee. “Alright.”

“It really wasn’t a big deal,” Johnny muttered, picking at the hot dog bun.

“It was a pretty big deal to me,” Peter said. “Johnny, you’re not – I mean, if money’s an issue –”

“I am not feeling bad enough that I can’t flash fry you if you finish that sentence,” Johnny cut him off, lobbing a piece of bread at his head. “I’m _fine_ , Peter. I just – I had a bad night last night, okay? Family stuff. I forgot. Leave it alone.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, and then shut it with a click of teeth. He didn’t need to push the issue right now. There’d be time, later, when Johnny was feeling better. Right now, Peter just wanted to get them out of public.

“You’re still not looking too hot, if you’ll pardon the pun,” Peter said, grabbing Johnny by the elbow when he stumbled a little. “Geez. Okay, I’m swinging you home.”

“I can take the subway!” Johnny protested, even as he put his arms around Peter’s neck. Peter aimed a webline across the street and swung them away, holding Johnny carefully against his side.

“Out to New Attilan?” Peter snorted, launching them into the air.

Johnny went stiff against him, not from nerves; Johnny was usually the most at-ease passenger he’d ever taken swinging, arguably even more fearless than Peter in the air.

“Oh, right,” Peter said, dimly recalling some things he’d heard through the grapevine. “I heard that the royal family left the planet…?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said tersely. “Following the pattern in my life.”

Peter wasn’t touching that one with a twenty-foot pole.

“So where are you staying?” he asked, catching himself on the side of a building and holding himself there in case they needed to switch swinging directions.

Johnny sighed. He slipped a finger beneath the line of Peter’s mask and snapped it, probably in the hopes that Peter would get annoyed and drop him and he could flame on his merry way. But they weren’t sixteen anymore, and Peter could win this staring contest. The big white mask eyes helped that way.

“You’re really going to do this me, aren’t you?” Johnny said after a minute.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” Peter said. “Come on, give me an address already or I’ll start charging you meter fair.”

 

* * *

 

“If you don’t stop laughing, I’ll burn your eyebrows off. I can do it with the mask in the way.”

Peter did not stop laughing.

“I won’t feel bad about it,” Johnny continued with the resigned air of a man on death row. His arms tightened around Peter’s neck, like he was contemplating strangling him. Peter would have liked to see him try. “It’s not like I’ll hurt you, so what do I have to feel bad about? I’d be doing the world a favor, practically. You’re due for a trim.”

“Queens!” Peter finally choked out. He shifted his hold on Johnny so he could break off his webline and shoot another; he couldn’t resist squeezing him a little. “Oh, this is too much for me.”

“I hate you,” Johnny told him. “You’re a terrible human being. Everything the Bugle ever said about you was right.”

“Johnny Storm, living in Queens,” Peter cackled. “I love it. This is making my day.”

“Always happy to amuse you,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “Look, after the royal family skipped town, I had to find a place fast and I didn’t have much in the way of cash, okay? I found someone looking for a roommate online.”

Peter wrinkled his nose behind his mask. All the words coming out of Johnny’s mouth were so – normal. _Roommate_ and _find a place fast_ and _didn’t have much in the way of cash_. It sounded like something Peter should be saying. It sounded like something Peter _had_ said.

But instead, Peter had a skyscraper and Johnny Storm was living in Queens with a roommate he’d found online. Sometimes, Peter felt like the world had been put back wrong.

“There,” Johnny said, pointing. “That building – Eighth floor. I left a window open.”

“Oh, the doorman must love you,” Peter said, catching himself on the side of the building.

The apartment was fine, if dark. Johnny pulled away from Peter as soon as Peter lifted him over the windowsill, pulling clothes out of a drawer and disappearing through the door. If he’d expected Peter to just leave, well, then he deeply underestimated how nosy of a person Peter was.

The living room was messy, but Peter’s had certainly looked worse. There was a copy of the Bugle left on the coffee table that made Peter snort, and a handful of cheap magazines stock full of sleazy articles about the X-Men and alien babies and how Spider-Man was actually a man-spider from Mars.

“We have got to talk about your taste in literature, Torch,” he called.

The fridge had nothing quick or easy in it. Peter rolled his eyes at the selection of fancy mustard labeled with Johnny’s name.

“I’m ordering Chinese,” he decided. “What do you want?”

“I just ate,” Johnny said, coming back into the room in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants patterned with lightsabers.

“That was a snack,” Peter said, waving a dismissive hand.

“Peter,” Johnny said, sounding a little annoyed.

“ _Johnny_ ,” Peter countered right back.

“I’m taking a nap,” Johnny declared, lying down on the couch. “You can do whatever you want.”

“I will, thanks,” Peter said.

Johnny rolled over and set about to a truly difficult task: ignoring Peter when Peter didn’t feel like being ignored.

“Why are there about a million packets of that astronaut ice cream stuff in the cupboard?” Peter asked, throwing his voice – loudly – towards the living room. “Worse yet, why’s it all labeled with dates? You planning on stealing the next rocket ship solo? Develop a taste over the years?”

“Oh, please, like Sue ever let me touch that stuff,” Johnny said around a yawn. “No, that’s for when SHIELD takes us to Mars.”

“I,” Peter said. “When the who does the what now.”

“My roommate’s one of those big conspiracy nuts, alright?” Johnny said. “Thinks mutants came from Mars and that Galactus was a big government cover up and all that junk. Anyway, he thinks New York is like, a fake copy just floating around in space until SHIELD finishes the plans for the relocation. Considering some of the stuff the Daily Mail publishes, can you blame him?”

“Wow,” said Peter. “He must be thrilled about living with the Human Torch.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, huffing, “ _I’m_ not the Human Torch. You see, the Fantastic Four were actually played by actors to help perpetuate the Galactus scam. Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Woman disappeared because they got a better gig on Days of Our Lives or whatever. You have no idea how badly I wanted the Watcher to show up and send _him_ through time and space.”

Peter winced. “Torch…”

“It’s fine,” Johnny said, even though Peter could tell from the tone of his voice that it was clearly not fine. “He leaves me alone this way, and the rent’s cheap. It could be worse.”

“Sure, there could be a handful of clones and your old college professor involved,” Peter said, unconvinced, but he let the subject go for a moment. He was in an odd mood – had been ever since he’d had to catch Johnny out of the air – so he fidgeted in the kitchen while he waited for the food, wiping down a counter and accidentally over-watering the one sad houseplant. Johnny didn’t start another thread of conversation; Peter thought it was maybe the first time they’d coexisted in a silent room.

If the delivery guy was surprised when Spider-Man opened the door and thrust a couple crumpled bills at him, he didn’t let it show.

“What?” he said. “No tip?”

“None of you guys ever worry about where I’m keeping my change, huh?” Peter said.

He’d ordered too much food, but he figured Johnny would get a few meals out of leftovers while he got over – whatever it was he going through. Besides, years of shared meals with the Fantastic Four meant he had all of Johnny’s favorites memorized.

“Alright, Torch, food’s here! Come and get it while it’s hot, not that that’s a problem for you,” he called. There was no reply. “Johnny, are you listening to me?”

Johnny was fast asleep, sprawled out on his side. Peter sighed, grabbing the blanket lying across the back of the couch and tossing it over him. On instinct, he brushed a lock of Johnny’s hair back from his forehead.

“Whatever, Sleeping Beauty,” he muttered, snagging the scallion pancakes out of the delivery bag – they were easy to eat on the swing.

He left the rest in the fridge for Johnny, his name written carefully in black sharpie on white cartons.

 

* * *

 

He was in the office late at night, procrastinating on the work he’d stuck around to do, when the sky lit up with fire. Peter’s spider-sense stayed silent; besides, he knew those elegant loops of flame. Smiling to himself, he turned off the office lights and switched into his other work clothes.

Johnny laughed when he saw him swinging over, bright and wild and delighted. Peter would never say it, but Johnny laughing through his flames was one of Peter’s favorite sounds – there was something crackling about it, like a bonfire at night on a beach. His eyes always sparked.

“Hey, Torch. What’s a nice firefly like you doing out on a night like this?” Peter asked, gesturing the cloudy sky. The night air had an electricity about it, like just before a storm.

“My roommate’s either hosting a costume party or a really weird orgy,” Johnny said, flying in circles around him. “Either way, I saw a guy in a Galactus headdress and sequined pants put his keys in the bowl and I booked it. Hey, where’s a mugger when you need one? I’ve been flying around for hours.”

“You can’t just order up a good ol’ fashioned street crime, Torch,” Peter admonished, wagging one finger and all. “You’ve got to have patience if you want to work on my level.”

“How’s the spider-jet doing?” Johnny asked, shooting a harmless spray of sparks in his directions.

“Okay, okay, point taken,” Peter said, dropping his swing and landing on a nearby roof. Johnny followed after him, flaming off as he touched down.

He really must have left in a rush – he wasn’t wearing his uniform, just a shirt and jeans. His hair was a mess of soft curls the way it looked when it dried on its own after Johnny got thrown in the river or extinguished by Hydro-Man or bodily hauled into a pool by Peter that one time. Looking at him like that – so normal, all the way up here at the top of Peter’s world -- gave Peter an idea.

“It’s no mugging, but I haven’t had dinner yet,” he said. “You want to grab something to eat?”

Johnny tilted his head to the side, the night breeze ruffling his hair. He leaned on the rooftop’s low wall with the kind of comfort only a man who’d spent half his life able to fly could display.

Peter felt suddenly, inexplicably nervous that he might say no.

“You’re not exactly dressed for dinner,” Johnny said after a moment, looking Peter up and down.

Peter made a show out of the costume’s shift – from full body red and blue into a pair of dark slacks and a shirt he thought even Johnny would deem decent. “Ta-da.”

Johnny arched his eyebrows as Peter leaned against the brickwork.

“You expect me to be impressed? I know who you copied that move off of,” he said.

“Come on,” Peter said. “There’s a great French place around here that hasn’t banned Spider-Man yet. Always get awkward for me when they do that. Gotta stand in solidarity with the mask.”

“Sounds fancy,” Johnny said, not looking entirely convinced. “I’m not sure _I’m_ dressed for it.”

“Lucky thing you’re with the CEO,” Peter said, gesturing to himself with a flourish as Johnny groaned, “of _Parker Industries_ , one Peter _Parker_ \--“

“If you keep doing this, you’ll be going alone,” Johnny said. “And probably singed.”

“Come on,” Peter said, laughing. “Indulge me. You gotta admit I’m a better deal than a bunch of conspiracy theorists getting busy.”

“Depends on the conspiracy,” Johnny said, but then he tipped his head back and groaned. “Okay, fine. Meet you street side, Mr. Parker.”

He turned and hopped over the guard wall, flaming on as he did. Peter, having changed into his street clothes, took the stairs instead. Johnny was waiting, leaning against a glass wall and idly playing with his phone. The crowd on the sidewalk passed him by without a second take. Peter thought he would never be used to that; the Human Torch being just another hot guy. He looked the part, in his tight jeans and seasonably inappropriate t-shirt.

Johnny hadn’t noticed him, so Peter leaned into his space and said, “How much for the hour?”

Johnny lips quirked even though he didn’t look up from his Twitter feed. “Sorry, some obnoxious tech bro booked me for the night.”

“Come on,” Peter said, laughing. “It’s this way.”

They walked in companionable silence. Peter tucked his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back to look at the sky, trusting both his spider-sense and Johnny not to let him walk into traffic. He’d always liked this time of year, when the chill was just starting to creep into the air, and it wasn’t just that it kept him cool in his spandex long johns. Call him a romantic, but there was something special about Manhattan in the fall.

He still remembered the first time he’d set foot in the restaurant they were going to. He’d been seventeen and smitten with Betty Brant, so desperate to seem grown up and sophisticated, to impress her. To make older, mature Ned Leeds seem the poorer prospect, he was ashamed to admit, remembering how years after that he’d found Ned dead in that hotel room. Still, he remembered that night – Betty in the candlelight, laughing in spite of herself at some joke he’d made at the waiter’s expense.

He could only assume they hadn’t recognized him when he’d turned back up years later with Mary Jane on his arm.

“Oh, this place has great wings!” Johnny said suddenly. He snagged Peter by the elbow, pulling him in the direction of a place with big glass windows and a neon sign.

“But I thought we were –” Peter started, glancing at his choice of restaurant, just up ahead on the corner.

“I said I wasn’t dressed for fine dining,” Johnny cut him off, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I love this place. Come on, Pete.”

He walked through the door, and after one last longing look, Peter followed. The bell above the door rang as he entered, and inside it was small and warm and just on the right side of greasy. Johnny was looking at the menu above the counter, his head tilted back. Peter was admiring the way the light glinted off his hair when he realized, like ice cold water upside the head, what that little French place was to him.

He and Mary Jane had done a fair few date nights and anniversary dinners there, whenever they’d had the cash. The last time he’d had dinner there he’d been with Carlie, celebrating his article in the American Science Journal. Not that he’d ever had to do much persuading in the bedroom, but dinner at that place had usually meant a great night for all after. What had Peter been thinking, taking Johnny to one of his favorite romantic spots? Johnny’s idea was much better, loathe as he was to ever admit that, and the wings _were_ good.

Watching Johnny struggle through a plate of extra hot wings just because Peter had made a joke about him not being able to handle the heat was better.

“Do you think the orgy’s still going on?” Peter asked as he and Johnny stepped back out into the night.

Johnny pulled a face. “I really don’t want to go back there and find out.”

“Alright,” Peter said, all too ready to drag the evening out. It was a nice night, and he was having a good time with Johnny. The earlier awkwardness of almost taking Johnny to his favorite guaranteed-to-get-laid spot was forgotten. He’d probably just missed the frites. “Why don’t we head downtown, see what’s playing at the Angelika?”

Johnny glanced at him curiously, as if he was trying to figure out Peter’s game. “Yeah, okay. I get veto rights, though.”

“ _One_ ,” Peter said, holding up a finger. “One veto. Now – do you want to take the subway? Or…” he drew out the word, waggling his eyebrows. “Do you want to race?”

Johnny grinned.

 

* * *

 

He learned about the race from Hobie.

“You’re friends with Johnny Storm, right?” he said while they were grabbing lunch together, sitting side by side on a iron girder high above the street – Peter as Spider-Man, Hobie as the Prowler. The way it had always been, before Peter had to go and make it complicated.

“Last time I checked,” Peter said around a mouthful of Shake Shack. “Why? What did he do?”

“He’s got some big race coming up this weekend,” Hobie said. “Mindy used to be a big fan of his, so his name caught my eye, that’s all.”

“Huh,” Peter said, chewing slowly. He’d been vaguely aware that Johnny still raced – his talent on the track seemed to be the only thing that had stayed in demand as his celebrity profile had faded.

Well, almost the only thing. Johnny was still enough of a star for the supermarket tabloids to attack. Peter had caught sight of him on the corner of a cover, a grainy shot of him kissing some television actor, accompanied by the banner: _Is Former F4 Member Too Hot For Rising Star To Handle?_

If Peter had read it, it was only because the line was long. If it had ruined the rest of his night, well – that was what he had Spider-Man for, sometimes.

“You didn’t know?” Hobie asked. Peter couldn’t tell with the mask in the way, but he thought there was some significant side eye being thrown his way.

“Why would I know?” he asked, chucking a French fry to a nearby pigeon. “Do I look like an automobile racing aficionado?”

“Don’t feed the birds, man,” Hobie said.

The closest Peter had ever come to professional racing was channel flipping past it, save for that one disastrous Bugle job when Jonah had wanted pictures of the Torch. Still, that weekend he found himself flying out to watch Johnny on the track. He’d find him after the race and surprise him. Johnny would be happy to see him – Johnny was always happy to see him, unless Peter had webbed something inflammatory on the side of the Flatiron building.

It would be – nice. Peter thought they could both use a little more nice in their lives. What was it Johnny had said when he’d moved in with Peter? Fun and nice.

Besides, Peter needed a day off. Spending it surrounded by loud, excited racing fans wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but hey, he got a hot dog and soon he’d be with Johnny. Things were looking up.

It was a beautiful day. If nothing else, he’d enjoy the sunshine.

“I know him,” Peter said, tilting his head towards the man sitting next to him when Johnny was announced.

“Oh, sure,” the guy said, rolling his eyes. “That’s the Human Torch, moron. Of the _Fantastic Four_.” Just his luck Peter would end up sitting next to another New Yorker. Peter set his jaw when the man added in an undertone, “Shame about ‘em.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. He turned his attention back to the track, trying in vain to focus on the cars. He lasted about five minutes before he tilted his head back and closed his eyes instead, enjoying the sunlight on his face and zoned out a little. Spider-Man, communing with nature. He was daydreaming about the way the sunlight would play off of Johnny’s hair when his spider-sense twinged.

_"And now Storm is passing Evans with one lap to go! But it looks like his car’s in trouble and he’s –"_

Peter’s eyes drifted open. He frowned in confusion – that didn’t sound right. Johnny was an incredible driver. If something was wrong, surely he’d –

_"—Too fast – too hot –!”_

It happened so fast it took Peter a second to realize anything had happened at all, the prickle of his spider-sense distracting him from the way the audience gasped, and the panicked tone in the announcer’s voice. The noise of the crash and the heat of the explosion.

Peter was up and out of his seat in a second. Someone tried to grab him as he hopped over the wall, but he shook them off easily. He only had one thought in his head: _Johnny_.

He emerged from the flames just before Peter reached them, no worse for the wear. _Of course_ , Peter thought to himself, almost hysterically, his heart hammering behind his ribs. _Of course._ How could he have forgotten that Johnny was fireproof?

Johnny looked a little dazed, like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on, which Peter considered was fair when Johnny had just been in an explosion.

“Pete?” he said, helmet clattering to the ground. He sounded confused – like he was surprised to see him.

“Jesus, Johnny,” he said, hauling him into his arms. He cupped one hand to the back of Johnny’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. “Don’t do that to me.”

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asked, his own hands coming up to rest tentatively against Peter’s chest.

“I came to watch you race,” Peter said.

Johnny’s brow creased. “Why?”

“Why – because I wanted to!” Peter said. He hauled him in closer, a thousand feelings warring in his chest, a panicky jumble that made him want to scream. All he knew in that moment was that he needed Johnny in his arms.

“Peter,” Johnny said in his ear. “Peter, let go.”

Slowly, his grip loosened and he looked at Johnny, confused. Then he realized there were people talking to him – talking to them both. Members of Johnny’s team and paramedics. Peter struggled to hear what they were saying over the phantom buzz of his spider-sense, but there were too many people talking and Johnny was looking at him like that and suddenly Peter couldn’t stand any of it.

“I’m Peter Parker, of Parker Industries,” Peter snapped, pulling the CEO card when someone asked what he thought he was doing for the third time, voices shouting over each other. “I’m taking him to a doctor –”

“Peter,” Johnny cut him off, shaking his head. To the paramedics, he said, “It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I absorbed the worst of it.”

The paramedics did not look comforted; Peter supposed he wouldn’t be either, if he didn’t know how Johnny’s powers worked. He knew, better than most – better than almost anyone left on the planet – how Johnny’s powers worked, and he was still reluctant to let him go, his arm protectively slung around Johnny’s shoulders, his fingers gripping tight.

“Peter,” Johnny said, right in his ear. Peter turned towards him to find him looking – angry? Peter’s frazzled nerves didn’t know what to make of that.

“Johnny?” he said, but Johnny was pulling away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not to Peter, but to the gathered crowd of officials and paramedics. “Excuse him, please.”

“Johnny,” Peter said again, cold all over where before he was warm. “Come on.”

“I’ll catch up, Pete,” Johnny said, turning away from him. “I have to handle this.”

It was dark by the time Johnny found him, still sitting in the stands long after everyone else had left, and Peter was well past his boiling point. He’d just been _worried_ about Johnny. It wasn’t a crime, to worry about someone.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“What the hell was what? What the hell were _you_?” Johnny asked, climbing through the stands until he reached Peter. “What are you even _doing_ here, Peter?”

“I came out here to watch you race!” Peter said, throwing his hands in the air. “To surprise you! And then –” He bit his cheek and looked away. “What the hell was that, Johnny? I’ve seen you handle the Fantasticar a thousand times.”

“The Fantasticar is not the same as –” Johnny started, but Peter cut him off. He’d been sitting there for ages, just replaying it over in his head.

_Too fast. Too hot._

“Why did you crash, Johnny?” he demanded. “Explain it to me – tell me what went wrong with the car, or – or that you were sabotaged, anything, just give me a _reason_.”

Johnny looked away, sparks flashing in his eyes. His jaw was set, stubborn.

Peter’s heart sank. “You crashed on purpose.”

“I had it under control,” Johnny said, voice tight. “I’m fireproof, remember? And nobody got hurt.”

“You had no way of knowing that would be the case,” Peter snapped. “Johnny, you had _no way_ \--”

“I’m the Human Torch!” Johnny exploded, a rush of flames erupting from his skin. “Nobody understands fire better than me! Reed understood that!”

 _Reed understood that._ Peter had forgotten; it was Reed’s birthday today. Ice flooded his veins – and then a whole new kind of fury came over him.

“You think this is what Reed would want?” he asked. “Are you really that stupid?”

“Stop,” Johnny said, the word crackling through the flames.

“You think he would want you pulling some stupid stunt, what, because you’re the Human Torch and nobody understands fire like you?” Peter said, talking fast now, not giving Johnny an inch. He was so mad at him – he hadn’t been this mad at Johnny in forever.

Maybe he hadn’t ever been this mad at Johnny before, not really. Not in a way that mattered. Peter wished he wasn’t flamed on so he could shake him.

“You don’t understand,” Johnny said, those flaming hands balled into fists. Good. Peter hoped he’d try to hit him. Then they could work things out, the old-fashioned way, like they did in the old days, back when things made sense.

“Oh, no, we are way past you pulling that card!” Peter said. “ _You_ don’t understand, Johnny, you could have been hurt! Do you really think Reed would be alright with that?”

Johnny was quiet for a long moment, still except for the flicker of his flames. Peter waited for the explosion, but it never came.

“You’re my best friend,” Johnny said after a minute. “That doesn’t mean you can fix everything in my life. Or that you get to try.”

He turned and took off before Peter could argue. Peter watched him go with his hand shading his eyes, a fading fiery streak across the sky.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Peter walked into his apartment to find Johnny sitting on his couch. There was a greasy box of Ray’s pizza laying out on the coffee table, rapidly cooling.

“Uh,” Peter said.

“Sorry,” Johnny croaked. “I came in through the window. I brought you pizza.”

“I can see that,” Peter said, sitting down next to him. “No, it’s okay. I’ve been meaning to call, but you know me – I can’t stomach an apology easily. You eaten? You could’ve started without me.”

Johnny shrugged.

Peter opened the box and snagged a slice, wordlessly handing it to Johnny. Johnny reheated it and passed it back, then leaned forward and took his own slice. He didn’t bite into it, just sort of stared at the sheen of grease across the cheese.

Peter was about to tell him that he’d overlook the crime of blotting pizza in his house just this once when Johnny spoke.

“I, uh. I got a call,” Johnny said. He put his untouched slice of pizza back down in the box, clearing his throat. “Ben called me. I saw Ben.”

Peter nearly choked on his pizza.

“What?” he said, coughing. “The big guy himself? When?”

“About two hours ago,” Johnny said, tilting his head to the side with a sigh. His eyes were a little glassy. “He got pizza. I flew off the handle. Then I waited on top of a building until I was sure he was gone and I went back and got pizza and now I’m here.”

He gestured miserably at the pizza box, one hand over his eyes.

Peter’s mind was racing. Johnny had seen Ben. And now Johnny was sitting on Peter’s couch, miserable, with a box of congealing pizza from Ray’s. Peter was a genius, and he couldn’t do the math on that one.

Wasn’t seeing his family what Johnny had been craving all along?

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said abruptly, rising to leave. “I shouldn’t have – this was stupid of me.”

“Hey, whoa there, cowboy,” Peter said, catching him by the elbow and tugging him back down – gently, but with just enough strength behind it that Johnny knew he was kidding with him. “It’s not stupid. Okay, so you saw Ben. Then what?”

“We talked, a little bit,” Johnny said. “He told me about some fake Reed who showed up in his hotel.”

“Wait, go back a second,” Peter said. “Reed showed up in Ben’s hotel?”

Johnny glared at him. “I said some _fake_ Reed. He told Ben he had to kill Doom. Reed would never – I know Reed would never. He’d never want that and he’d never ask Ben to do it. I married a Skrull, okay, I learned the hard way how to tell when people aren’t themselves.”

He broke off, scrubbing at face in frustration.

“Okay,” Peter said softly, trying to keep Johnny on topic. “So it wasn’t Reed. I get it. Then what?”

“I can’t look at Ben,” Johnny said. “I – physically, I can’t look him in the eyes.”

“You do have to tilt your head back pretty far,” Peter said, touching the nape of Johnny’s neck.

Johnny shrugged him off, glaring. “Can you stop for five seconds?”

“Five… four… three… Okay, okay, shutting up,” Peter said when Johnny’s gaze got hot in the literal sense. “Why can’t you look at Ben?”

“Because when I look at him, all I can think is that I want them more!” Johnny exploded, sparks striking from his eyes and his lips, the very ends of his hair. They faded and died a moment later, embers fading to black as Johnny looked away.

“You love Ben,” Peter told him.

“I love Ben,” Johnny said, all the fire he’d shown a moment before extinguished. “I love my sister and my niece and nephew more. I feel so lost without Reed – I ask myself all the time, when I’m out with the Unity Squad, what would Reed do? And guess what – I’m too stupid to know. I can’t look at Ben without thinking about all that, and I hate it. I hate that I’d trade him.”

“You wouldn’t,” Peter said, not that Johnny seemed to be listening.

“Sue promised she wouldn’t – I’ve never, I’ve never told anyone this,” Johnny said, hitching breath picking up too fast and hands too rough where he swiped at his own face. Whether he meant to brush away tears or sparks, Peter couldn’t tell, but he reached out and caught his wrists before he hurt himself. “We’ve never told _anybody_ \--”

“Shh, breathe,” he said. “Calm down. You don’t have to tell me anything, you know that.”

“Oh, _shut up_ , masked man,” Johnny bit back. “I’m sorry not everybody loves secrets as much as you!”

That stung. Peter almost opened his mouth to argue, all the old excuses ready at the tip of his tongue. His aunt. His job. His less than sterling reputation. But Johnny was still talking.

“We weren’t like you,” Johnny said. To Peter’s distress, there were tears in his eyes. “We didn’t have masks! End of the day, everything always came down on us. What were we supposed to do, give the tabloids another reason to drag Sue and I through the mud? Like I didn’t give them enough all on my own? First, our father’s a murderer, and then --”

He broke off with a hard swallow, shutting his mouth like he’d been about to say something he’d regret.

“Then what?” Peter asked quietly. When Johnny didn’t immediately tell him, he added, “Come on. I know about your alien marriage. What could be worse than that?”

Johnny glared at him, hot-eyed, so Peter held his hands up and waited him out.

“I’m just sick of everyone leaving,” Johnny said after a beat, looking away. “Ben wants to get the band back together now, but he left Earth rather than stay with me. I got left by all of them.” Quieter, almost to himself, he continued, “Sue promised. She promised she wouldn’t do this. Not like everyone else.”

Peter ducked his head, trying to catch Johnny’s eye, and quietly said, “I don’t think even Sue could have promised that the stuff that went down on Battleworld –”

“She promised she wouldn’t leave me!” Johnny cut him off, voice hot and angry. Peter felt like the temperature of the apartment had just gone up five degrees. He almost pulled back; he’d never seen Johnny’s control slip like that. “Not after our aunt did.”

“What?” Peter asked, thrown. He’d never heard Johnny so much as mention an aunt before. It struck him as odd, given how much Johnny liked Peter’s own aunt and always glowed under her attention. “What aunt?”

Johnny still wouldn’t look at him.

“When my dad died – when I _thought_ my dad died,” he corrected himself sharply. “I was just a little kid, and we didn’t have much family – no grandparents left or anything. Sue was already in college. She wasn’t even 20. I went to live with our aunt instead.”

“I know a little something about that,” Peter said, rubbing at Johnny’s shoulder. Rather than comforting Johnny, it seemed to make him pull in tighter on himself. Peter dropped his hand back to the couch after a moment.

“My aunt, she wasn’t – she wasn’t like your aunt,” Johnny said. “I mean, she wasn’t – mean to me or anything.” Peter hated the little hitch in his voice, the way he said ‘mean.’ Johnny swallowed hard before he continued. “Not especially. But Aunt Jewel never really wanted kids. And I was – difficult, I guess. I didn’t really understand, you know? At the beginning, I still thought my dad was coming back. And then he made Sue tell me – it doesn’t matter what he made Sue tell me.”

Peter had never heard Johnny talk about his father before. He recalled, vaguely, when Dr. Franklin Storm had died – it had been the front page of the Bugle, after all. Peter had felt sorry for Johnny, sure, but he’d barely given it any thought at the time, caught up in his own drama, preoccupied with his aunt’s health and the Green Goblin and his relationship problems with Betty. He remembered with a distant guilty flash how he’d been annoyed that his photos of Spider-Man had been pushed to page 10.

“I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing for his attitude, and all the hotheaded spats they’d had as kids when he’d done nothing but fan the flames, and for Johnny’s father, and another dozen things besides.

“My aunt ran a bed and breakfast,” Johnny said. “I got underfoot. Broke some stuff – I remember a vase and this lady’s expensive sunglasses. I got yelled at for that one. I couldn’t sit still as a kid.”

Peter didn’t point out that he’d never known Johnny to sit still a day in his life; he was even bouncing a leg as he talked, his hot gaze fixed on the opposing wall. “Johnny, what’re you getting to?”

“My aunt didn’t want to deal with that. She was old, you know? Strict.” Johnny’s voice broke a little. “Then one day I was crying and yelling because – I don’t remember why. ‘Cause I missed Dad, probably. She got frustrated and kicked me out.”

“What?” Peter said, reaching for him. His hand landed on Johnny’s knee, stilling him.

He knew Johnny had said that his aunt wasn’t like May, but he’d never imagined – but then, he was being stupid. He always was when it came to parents. He should have learned by now, with Harry’s dad and Mary Jane’s and Flash’s. Not everyone had a Ben and May Parker.

 _It was always just me and Sue,_ Johnny had told him once, trading family stories in the kitchen. Thanksgiving at the Baxter Building, what felt like a million years ago. Peter had been conscripted to help with the dishes and Johnny had sounded nostalgic. _We always had to roll with the punches._

“It was my fault,” Johnny said, eyes falling shut. “I can never just shut up.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Peter said, mind racing, thinking about Johnny, young and vulnerable and thrust upon someone who didn’t want him. _It was in the past_ , he told himself. _Be here with him now._ “What do you mean, she kicked you out?”

“Put me on a bus and sent me up to Sue,” Johnny said. “Said she’d have to deal with me instead.”

“Okay,” Peter said, slowly, trying to nudge Johnny onwards.

“Except,” Johnny said, “Aunt Jewel was old, you know? Forgetful. She didn’t exactly give Sue a lot of warning and she didn’t have a cell phone. It took her ages to get the message. I got to the station and Sue wasn’t there. I completely panicked. I was just thinking about the morning I woke up and Dad wasn’t there and --”

He broke off, swiping at his eyes. Peter couldn’t stand the quaver in his voice, but he needed to hear this, and he thought Johnny needed to say it.

“And I had the worst stutter as a kid when I got worked up, which really didn’t help,” he continued after a moment. “I used to get so mad at you with the fast talk because I was worried I’d trip up and then _you’d_ start laughing…”

“I wouldn’t have,” Peter said, frowning. It wasn’t quite the truth, but he was a different person now than he had been at fifteen, equal parts envious of and dazzled by Johnny. He rested his hand over Johnny’s, just for a second. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Johnny nodded, miserable, his jaw clenched tight.

“Sure, Pete,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning towards him. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Come on. What happened?”

“9-year-old kid has a breakdown at a crowded train station? Chaos, man,” Johnny said, laughing for real this time. Peter knew that kind of laughter, when the sting had worn off an old memory enough for you to find the situation funny. “Old ladies were yelling, the cops came over, nobody knows what’s going on because I can’t get two words out. Then my sister, she finally comes running in. I remember thinking she looked a million feet tall, so it’s so weird to think – I’m older now than she was then. Sue always had it so together, ever since I could remember. And everyone’s yelling, including Sue, and I’m just bawling my eyes out. And then there’s this weird, skinny guy, down on his knees in front of me, trying to talk to me. Calm me down.” He smiled, a little bit fond, a little bit bitter. “First time Reed ever saw me. No wonder he always treated me like a kid.”

“You never said…” Peter couldn’t even imagine it. In his head, somehow, the Fantastic Four had always been together. But that was just him, romanticizing them – there had to have been a moment where Reed and Ben first met, Reed and Sue, Reed and Johnny.

He just hadn’t expected it had happened like this.

God, but Peter remembered the first time he’d laid eyes on Johnny.

“Oh, please, and give you more ammo back in the day when there wasn’t a fire hydrant in the city you wouldn’t web me to?” Johnny said.

“Alright, alright, we’ve established that I was a jerk,” Peter said, skimming his thumb gently against the nape of Johnny’s neck again, tracing comforting little circles.

“Sue manages to spin the whole thing as me getting lost, gets me out of there, and the whole time, I was just clinging to her. I couldn’t let her go…” Johnny trailed off, sagging back against the couch cushions. “She finally had to pry me off so she could drive.”

“Johnny,” Peter said, soft.

“I made Sue promise she wouldn’t leave me. Not her, too,” Johnny said, sparks falling from his eyes again. Peter got it – anger over sadness. Fire over tears. But Johnny had always burned faster than him, and the sparks fizzled out long before they hit the ground.

It struck Peter suddenly that he’d never seen any pictures of Johnny as a kid. In his mind’s eye, he was always the way he’d been when Peter had first laid eyes on him – the celebrity golden boy, the teen superstar. Shining and untouchable.

It hurt, picturing some skinny kid crying in his sister’s car.

“We never told anybody anything about our childhood. Even when everything with our father came out, Sue told me not to talk about this stuff,” Johnny said, wiping at his eyes. “First – I don’t know. We just didn’t. I don’t think Ben even knows some of the stuff that happened. And then it didn’t fit the story right, see?”

“What story?” Peter asked, trying not to show any of the tight fury he was feeling – that someone would try and throw Johnny away. “You’re going in circles here, baby.”

“The Fantastic Four story,” Johnny said. “See, in the beginning, that’s what we were selling: the image. People had to want to be us, you know? They couldn’t look at us and see cosmically irradiated freaks. And Sue and I – we were a big part of that. We had to be the dream. Guys had to want Sue, like – want to _marry_ her, actually, and teen girls had to want to put posters of me up on their walls. I mean, I’m not smart like Reed, right? I had to be good for something.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Peter said, frowning. “You know that.”

Johnny shook his head. “It wasn’t enough. I had to be this normal, clean-cut, American teenager who could also light on fire. The kind of boy moms want their daughters to bring home to dinner.” He smiled, brittle. “And then eventually I had to be the kind of boy moms _didn’t_ want their daughters bringing home to dinner.”

“And now nobody has to worry because you just break into my place with pizza,” Peter joked, aiming for soothing.

Johnny laughed, but not like he thought Peter was funny.

“I’m really sick of getting left,” he said. “Reed and Sue. Ben. Medusa, too. Sometimes I think it’s because I’m fake, you know? I’m just this image we sold so we wouldn’t be military lab rats or a circus freak show or whatever Reed was afraid of. But I was all fake to start with, not like Sue.” He swiped at his eyes again. “This used to be fun, right, Pete? Being a superhero?”

“Don’t ask me, I’ve never had fun a single day in my life,” Peter said. “Oh, geez, just come here already, please?”

Johnny went, semi-grudgingly, into his arms, forehead down against Peter’s shoulder. Peter rubbed at his back for a long moment, and then he sighed.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he admitted, cheek pressed against the top of Johnny’s head and arm locked tight around him. “I want to have the right words, to make you see things differently. To make things okay, even if just for a little while. But I can’t figure out what they are.”

He wished there was someone he could hit to fix it. He contemplated asking Johnny if he’d feel better if Peter tossed Ben off a pier. But Johnny wouldn’t, even if Peter might. Peter knew them both well enough to understand that.

“You’re not fake,” he said into Johnny’s hair. “If you were fake, it wouldn’t hurt like this.”

Johnny laughed again, that horrible hollow laugh, and lifted his head. His eyes were red.

Peter fumbled for the remote. “Come on. You’re not in any shape to be flying right now. Movie night?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, swiping at his eyes with the inside of his wrist. Peter grabbed his wrist and took his hand away so he could do it instead, dragging his thumb gently across Johnny’s cheek. Johnny’s eyelashes fluttered against his fingertip when Johnny shut his eyes against a fresh wave of tears. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Peter said, flicking him very gently on the forehead. He felt a pang as Johnny shifted back and away from him, settling against the arm of the sofa. He was still wiping at his eyes a little. This wasn’t the first time Peter had seen Johnny cry, but it was the first time he’d seen him cry like this, quiet and defeated.

It was more than Peter could stand.

His eyes caught on a title, and a flash of memory hit him. He snuck a glance at Johnny – still swiping at his eyes – and hit play. It took a moment for Johnny to look up.

“This movie?” Johnny said with a startled little laugh. “Really?”

“Hey, I read an interview with _somebody_ a few years ago who listed this movie as one of his top three favorites,” Peter said, settling back on the couch.

Johnny shot him a look. “That was years ago. And you remembered that?”

“I’ve got a good memory, Torch,” Peter said, reaching for a slice of pizza. He held it out to Johnny. “Warm this up, would you? Cold pizza’s a felony offense.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and mumbled something about Peter being a snob, but passed the slice back piping hot as the movie started. He relaxed by increments, his eyes fixed on the screen – his shoulders stopped being so hunched, and he stopped swiping at his eyes every so often. His toes somehow found their way under Peter’s thigh, even though they were blazing warm. He started to smile at the romantic scenes. Normally, Peter would have been rolling his eyes, but not tonight.

Two hours later, Johnny was asleep.

He could have turned the movie off, but instead Peter just sat there, looking at him. Really looking at him – the sweep of his gold eyelashes, the slight curl of his hair, the way his mouth hung open slightly in sleep and the pizza sauce stain on his shirt. He thought about how long he’d known Johnny, and about every unbelievable, wonderful, terrible thing they’d seen together, and about how there were so few people who knew him – all the facets of him – better than Johnny did.

That was all he did. He just sat there, watching him, all the while on screen the Titanic was going down.

The music swelled, and that’s when it struck him: he was dating Johnny Storm.

 

* * *

 

Alright, so he wasn’t _actually_ dating Johnny, he knew that. Dating Johnny would involve Johnny knowing they were dating, for starters. Some kind of conversation about it, probably. Unless Johnny knew they were dating and he was just waiting for Peter to catch up, but Peter wasn’t kicking the land mine that was asking Johnny if they were, in fact, involved.

He wasn’t actually dating Johnny, but he wanted to be.

The point was, he took Johnny out – dinners and movies. He spent long hours on the couch just watching things Johnny liked. He wanted to be there for Johnny, to take care of him, cheer him up when he was down. Be a shoulder to cry on. And he loved him. He did. He was a good boyfriend, that was his point. He was probably, he thought, irrationally angry at the whole entire world, the best boyfriend Johnny had ever had, even if he didn’t know it yet.

Johnny didn’t want anyone else leaving him. Peter could do that, even if, historically, his tendency to swing off in the middle of things was one of his worse qualities. Peter could do better than not leave him, even, given half the chance.

Harry caught him contemplating it one afternoon, head tipped back, idly tossing a rubber ball at the ceiling and catching it.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked. “Or do you really have nothing better to do?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to ask someone out,” Peter said, idly staring at the ceiling. He lobbed the stress ball at it again, catching it without so much as a glance.

Harry snorted. “Stand around a coffee shop being aloof and disheveled until some supermodel trips over you. That always worked for you in college.”

“I don’t remember it working like that,” Peter said.

“You wouldn’t,” Harry snorted, and then immediately assaulted Peter with what he claimed was “actual work” for the “company he was responsible for.” (“The air quotes are so juvenile, Pete.”)

“Is that really how it worked for me back in college?” he said to Harry’s back as he was leaving.

“Ask MJ,” Harry called back.

Peter sighed, leaning back and eyeballing the ceiling again.

If he was going to confess his feelings to Johnny, then he wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be romantic and meaningful, for it to be special for both of them. He entertained the idea of his old favorite date night spot again – Johnny in the candlelight would be a sight – but it didn’t feel right. This thing with Johnny, it was new.

Maybe, he thought, he was going about it all wrong. Maybe the thing to do would be to let it happen casually. They’d always clicked, the two of them, whether they’d wanted to admit it or not. Sooner or later, Johnny would turn, and Peter would kiss him, and maybe just that would be perfect.

He pictured first the brush of their lips, Johnny’s soft sigh, the long pale column of his throat exposed for Peter, and picked up his phone to text Johnny.

What he got was an evening watching The Fast and the Furious while Johnny, frustratingly all the way on the other end of the couch, laughed and tossed popcorn into his mouth.

 _Big, bad Spider-Man, huh?_ he thought to himself, head propped up on a hand and elbow planted on the armrest, watching a car chase scene he’d completely lost the plot of. There wasn’t a psychopath in an animal suit he’d turn down the chance to tussle with, but when it came to telling Johnny Storm he wanted things that went beyond friendship, he was chickening out at every turn.

Then there was the upcoming holiday season, and what it meant for Peter specifically – supervillains. Every year around this time things got hectic, with his usual crew hitting up everything from banks to convenience stores and busting out the usual round of excuses once Peter’d gotten them webbed up nice with a bow for the cops. From _“come on, Spidey, I’ve got kids”_ to _“but it’s Christmas, have some humanity!”_ , Peter had heard them all. Add in every loser with a ski mask in the Manhattan area and his company, Peter barely had time to eat, let alone to grab Johnny for a surprise romantic dinner.

To top it all off, Johnny had started acting strange. He was happy enough to help out with the crime-fighting, and he didn’t seem averse to grabbing a bite after, but there was a new distance between them. Johnny suddenly wasn’t leaning in as close, and there was no friendly arm around the shoulders the way they’d always touched each other. He didn’t meet Peter’s eyes as often.

Peter wanted so badly for this to go right, but before it even started it seemed like he’d messed it up.

He knew it was probably just Johnny being embarrassed, having opened up so much that night, but that was the opposite of what Peter wanted. He couldn’t stand one more day of watching Johnny pick at a pastrami sandwich, at once only at the other end of a diner booth and a million miles away.

He resolved to just say it -- _Johnny, will you go out with me?_ That was simple. That was easy. He could do that.

That was when the Parker luck really bit him in the ass.

 

* * *

 

Peter woke up to find himself in a glass cage, with Johnny slumped still unconscious by his side. Last thing he remembered, he and Johnny had been down in the Meatpacking District, half-investigating a string of burglaries and half-investigating some nw fusion place Johnny seemed interested in. Peter had been having a good time; Johnny seemed to have shaken some of the mood he’d been in lately, laughing and joking – and then they’d been ambushed from behind.

Peter tried to shake him awake and get their bearings at the same time, comforted by Johnny’s sleepy whine as he looked around. It didn’t do him much good – they were in a plain grey room, with the lights dimmed low. Some old computer equipment was heaped in the corner. Nothing stood out to him – it could have been any number of safehouses Peter had crashed over the years.

“Ugh,” Johnny said, groaning as he looked around. “This is familiar.”

“Waking up in a strange place with no recollection of how you got there?” Peter hummed. Johnny nudged him his foot.

“I meant me, you, and a glass cage. How many times does this make it?” he asked, pushing his hand up into his hair and rolling his eyes. “Four? Five?”

“Three,” Peter said, feeling for a seam in the glass wall, a weakness to exploit.

“It’s been way more than three,” Johnny said. “There was the time with The Enforcers –”

“Yeah, honey, I’m not counting times it was just _you_ under glass,” Peter snorted. Johnny kicked him that time, and Peter snickered. “Spidey to the rescue, yet again…”

“Why do you keep doing that?” Johnny asked. When Peter glanced over his shoulder at him, he found Johnny resting with his back against the wall, idly picking at one glove. He turned back to the glass, slamming a fist down against it experimentally. No good; he’d figured whoever had managed to snatch both of them would take measures against his strength.

“Rescuing you?” Peter said. “To save myself from the crushing guilt, mostly.”

“No, I meant –” Johnny broke off with a frustrated noise. “I know you’re a nickname guy, but don’t you think you’re getting a little…”

“A little what?” Peter asked. “Is this because I called you a dumb blond the other day? Because if the highlights fit –”

“Unbelievable!” Johnny said. “You _just_ called me “honey.””

Peter froze. “I did?”

“You did,” Johnny said. “And you called me baby the other week, after I saw Ben. I thought it was just you being weird, but then you did it again, and the other night, you said, and I quote,” he cleared his throat and put on a mocking approximation of Peter’s Queens accent, “Hope you don’t mind that I picked up dinner from that deli you hate, _sunshine._ ”

“Uh,” Peter said, completely dumbstruck. If he thought about it, he could remember saying all of those words, but at the time of speaking them? Not so much. “Is this really the best time for this conversation?”

“And,” Johnny said, voice picking up as he talked over him, “you are driving me _out of my damn mind_!”

“Johnny,” Peter began, but he was tongue tied, and Johnny was already on a roll.

“I get that you feel sorry for me, okay?” Johnny said, eyes flashing. “You don’t have to rub it in! I know I’m pathetic, is that what you want me to say? You want me to admit it? Oh, poor stupid Johnny, pining over Spider-Man on top of everything else he’s done wrong in his life!”

“Wait,” said Peter, fingers stilling against the glass. “What?”

“It was bad enough when Ben used to tease me about my dumb crush on you. Listen, I get that I’m obvious, but you didn’t need to start doing,” he trailed off, crossing his arms defensively across his chest and leaning back against the glass, “whatever it is you think you’re doing. Maybe you’re trying to make me feel better or whatever, but Pete, it’s _not working_.”

“Johnny,” Peter said, throat dry and heart hammering behind his ribs. His gloves felt sweaty, but there was nothing to do about that as he leaned towards him. “Do you think I’d do that to you?”

Johnny nailed him with a glare. “You spent an entire day trying to convince me you were your own clone once.”

“That was hilarious,” Peter said, raising his hands. When Johnny didn’t move, he settled them at his elbows. “And completely different. Johnny, come on, you _know_ me.”

“Know you, sure,” Johnny said, gazing at him suspiciously. “Understand you? Not so much sometimes.”

“Excuse me,” Peter said, raising one hand to roll his mask up over his nose. He kept the other on Johnny’s elbow, squeezing gently. “You’re talking to the president of that club, I’ll have you know. Hey. This is not about pity, okay? That’s the last thing on my mind right now.”

Johnny huffed a laugh even as his gaze dropped to Peter’s lips. He swayed towards Peter a little as Peter touched his jaw, feather light. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking that this is a really terrible place to kiss you,” he said, tilting Johnny’s face towards his. “Because I’ve been really wanting to do that for a long time.”

Their lips brushed. His spider-sense blared. Johnny yelped as he sprung away from him, and then the lights went up and the door on the far side of the room opened.

“Gentlemen!” said a voice Peter hadn’t heard in a while. “Finally awake.”

“Are you serious?” Peter exclaimed, pounding one fist on the glass while Johnny groaned and covered his face. Peter threw his head back and addressed the universe, “Seriously? _Fancy Dan_?”

 

* * *

 

The rest was fairly predictable after that: Dan gave a longwinded speech about selling them to the highest bidder. Peter pounded on the supposedly unbreakable glass until it broke. Johnny flamed on.

Poetry in motion, as far as Peter was concerned. He almost felt bad for Fancy Dan as he attempted to put out his smoking hat, sweating in a ring of fire. Johnny didn’t _have_ to rub it in by singing, but Peter didn’t exactly mind listening, so he didn’t bother trying to stop him as he webbed up Dan and prepared to contact the proper authorities.

Peter recognized the neighborhood when the doors opened; they weren’t too far from his aunt’s place.

“I hate when they take me out of borough,” he said. When Johnny didn’t reply right away, he added, “At least it’s not Jersey.”

Johnny snorted, picking at his gloves.

“Well,” Peter said, hand to the back of his neck as he watched the cops lead Fancy Dan away. “What do we do now?”

“My place is closer,” Johnny said after a contemplative moment.

“A compelling point,” Peter said, and they both took off racing.

 

* * *

 

Johnny beat him, but only by a hair. Peter was too busy remembering the sunshine warm touch of his lips to be bothered much by his victory cry.

Halfway over the windowsill, he said, “Hey, flame off for me, would you?”

Johnny complied and for one moment all Peter could see was the joy in those blue eyes. Then he was reaching for Johnny, rolling his mask back up for that rudely interrupted kiss. He kept it short and sweet, no pressure, remembering how upset Johnny had been with him earlier.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Johnny replied. “You coming inside or do you want the neighbors to talk?”

“Always,” Peter said, pulling himself over the sill properly. He pulled the window shut and closed the drapes, then turned back to Johnny. He didn’t have a chance to take the mask all the way off before Johnny was on him, kissing him hard and desperate.

Peter slid a gloved hand to his cheek, trying to change the pace. There wasn’t any need to rush.

Johnny drew the mask off and tossed it down on his bed, palming Peter’s face.

“There you are,” he said, cradling Peter’s jaw. Peter moved to kiss him again, but something in the way Johnny was looking at him, like he was trying to put together a puzzle, stopped him.

“What?” he said, putting his hand over Johnny’s. He laughed at Johnny’s serious expression, the way his eyes searched Peter’s face. “What’s that face for?”

“Why now?” Johnny asked. “Spidey, I’ve been head over heels for you for like, _forever_ …”

“Hey, hey,” Peter said, capturing his mouth for another quick kiss. “Don’t do that. Don’t be in the past. Be here, with me.”

“Pete,” Johnny said softly. It took one soft kiss, and then another, before Peter could coax a smile out of him. He was laughing by the time Peter was nosing just behind his ear.

“ _Hot_ stuff,” Peter said, growling playfully. He slid his hand to the small of Johnny’s back, enjoying how warm he was to the touch and the noise Johnny made when Peter nipped at his jaw. “Be here with me, because I am _stuck_ on you.”

He moved his hand away from Johnny’s back an inch, taking the fabric of his shirt with him, and wiggled his stuck fingers.

“You think you’re so hilarious,” Johnny said, shoving at him. Peter retaliated by wrapping his arms around Johnny and falling dramatically down onto the bed. Johnny hit him with an ‘oof’, laughing.

“Hey, I manage to make you laugh, don’t I?” Peter said, rolling them over so Johnny was pinned underneath him. He took a moment to admire Johnny’s face up close – the high cheekbones, the long gold lashes, the hint of surprise in those blue eyes – before he kissed him again.

“John?” a voice called out and Johnny broke the kiss to groan.

“I’m busy!” he shouted.

“Yeah, you are. Who calls you _John_?” Peter asked. He curled his hand in Johnny’s hair, kissing a path down his throat. He nipped and hauled him closer when Johnny made to pull away.

“It’s my roommate. Dammit, I didn’t think he was home. Suit,” Johnny said, palming the spider on Peter’s chest. There were footsteps in the hall. “Off now, please. I don’t need to hear about this for next six months.”

“Ugh,” said Peter, but he did as Johnny asked. The suit melted away into a black shirt and pants just as the door rattled open, leaving Johnny in bed with plain Peter Parker instead of Spider-Man. He was glad that he was lying on top of his mask.

Johnny’s roommate was a bearded man who looked about a decade older than them. He was wearing a shirt with a request to ask him the truth about Captain America. Peter hated him on sight, and not only because he was getting in the way of Peter being alone with Johnny.

He should have webbed the door shut.

“Dude,” Johnny said, shoving at Peter. Reluctantly, Peter shifted off of him, grabbing his mask and discreetly pocketing it as he did. Johnny sat up, looking the best kind of disheveled as he leveled a glare his roommate’s way. “Kind of a bad time, in case you didn’t notice.”

“We need to talk about the rent,” the guy said, like Peter wasn’t even in the room, much less still practically on top of Johnny.

“Seriously?” Johnny said, gesturing. “Brent, dude, right _now_?”

“I know you’ve got,” Brent’s eyes fell on Peter, apparently none too impressed, “company, but seriously, John, you said you’d have it, like, last week, and you’re _never_ around.”

Johnny groaned, rolling off the bed and onto his feet.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Just – I’ll be out in a minute, okay?”

Brent cast a suspicious look between them two of them. He shut the door behind himself when he left.

“This is so annoying,” Johnny huffed, pushing his hand up into his hair.

“Do you want me to take care of it?” Peter asked, turning onto his side and propping his head up on one hand. Johnny shot him a glower and Peter shrugged. “Just a suggestion, hot stuff. Does he take a web to the face alongside a check?”

“I wish. Stay here,” Johnny told Peter, with a significant glance towards the window. “I’ll be right back.”

“You should flame on a little, give him a scare.” Johnny shot him another glare. Peter held his hands up in front of him. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Johnny threw him a deeply suspicious look, but leaned down for a quick kiss. Peter nipped as his lip, carding his fingers through Johnny’s soft hair.

“Oh,” Johnny sighed. “Okay. Right back, I promise.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter said. He tugged on a lock of Johnny’s hair gently. “Really, I’m not.”

Johnny nodded, biting his lip, and then he got up and left the room.

Peter fell back against the bed with a sigh, digging in his pocket for his cell phone. He had a couple of missed calls from Harry and one from his aunt. That was going to be fun to deal with – later. For now, he pressed his fingers to his lips, savoring the memory.

He wasn’t surprised that Johnny was a good kisser, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt sparks like that. He closed his eyes and smiled.

That smile faded a second later when his sharp ears picked up the sounds of an argument. That was Johnny’s voice, rising sharply, taking on that tone that had always sent Peter straight up a wall when they’d been younger. He’d been so stupid, thinking he knew all about Johnny back then.

This was all wrong all over again, Peter lying waiting on a twin bed in some superhero conspiracy nut stoner’s apartment, listening while the guy tried to berate Johnny over rent of all things. He pushed himself up off the bed, making sure his mask was tucked into his pocket.

Peter had had about enough of waiting, and enough of seeing Johnny get beaten down.

Johnny, standing in the kitchen looking defensive with his shoulders hiked up practically to his ears, groaned when he saw Peter approach.

“What happened to promising?” he asked.

“You know I only keep the important ones,” Peter said. He eyeballed a magnet on the fridge he was sure hadn’t been there last time; he would have remembered his mask on a can of bug spray. “What’s the problem? You short?”

“I cannot believe _you_ are asking me that,” Johnny muttered, his head tipped back. “I just need a few days to scrape things together and then –”

“Dude, seriously, how many times have I heard that one? And you,” Brent gestured at Peter dismissively, which made him set his jaw, “that’s nice of you, but you’re not exactly the first guy he’s brought around and tricked into bailing him out.” Unnecessarily, he added, “If you know what I mean.”

Peter knew he shouldn’t have glanced at Johnny, but he did. Johnny had gone red, his hands curled around the edge of the counter as he looked away, eyes going down. Peter’s own fingers curled into fists.

None of this was right.

“Alright, that’s it,” he said, pointing to the door. “Out.”

For one second, neither Johnny nor his roommate seemed to realize what was going on. Johnny looked up sharply, brows drawn together. Brent just blinked owlishly at him. Peter snapped his fingers at him.

“Yes, you,” he said. “Out. Come back when you can talk to him nicely.”

“This is my apartment!” Brent said, taking a step back and nearly tripping over the edge of the coffee table. Peter stayed on him the way he would a frightened purse snatcher, just walking him back towards the door. He could get hardened criminals to jump into the Hudson rather than deal with him when he was on them like this. One regular jerk wearing socks with tiny Skrull faces on them was nothing. Brent groped blindly for the doorknob. “Who do you think you are, man?”

The door opened and the guy took a step back. That was all Peter needed, just one single step over the threshold.

“Yeah?” Peter said, nose to nose with Johnny’s roommate. “I got a secret for you: I’m Spider-Man.”

Then he slammed the apartment door shut and locked the security chain for good measure.

There was a moment of ringing silence, and then, from the other side of the door, “Hey, c’mon, man!”

“You’re terrible,” Johnny told him. It was hard to take his statement seriously when he seemed to be fighting not to laugh.

“We need a little privacy,” Peter said, ambling back over to him. He tried to keep his posture loose and easy, relaxed, even when he felt like he was thrumming all over. He’d kissed Johnny. Johnny had kissed him back. He was going to get to do it again.

“It _is_ his apartment, Peter,” Johnny said in that tone of voice that meant he thought Peter was being ridiculous, but he was smiling, and Peter didn’t mind Johnny thinking he was ridiculous right now.

He took Johnny’s face between his hands and put his forehead against Johnny’s. Johnny’s hands curled at his wrist, just holding him there.

“And he can have it back,” Peter said. “Later. Right now, I’m going to kiss you.”

“Really? Is that what you’re going to do after kicking out my roommate?” Johnny told him, but he was smiling, and his eyes were shining.

“See? I’m not awful,” Peter said, sealing their lips together again. He pulled back after a moment to rest their foreheads together. “Hey, you know I don’t care about that stuff, right? Other guys or whatever.”

“And here I was hoping you’d be the jealous type,” Johnny joked. After a second, his arms came up and around Peter, just holding on.

Peter waited until Johnny’s grip on his shirt relaxed a little, and then he grabbed him by the hips, easily lifting him up onto the counter.

“If it’s jealous you want,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Then it’s jealous you get.”

Johnny was on him before he could say anything else, all hot mouth and clever fingers, his ankles locking together at the small of Peter’s back. His roommate yelling and pounding his fists on the door wasn’t as perfect as romantic soundtrack as the Sinatra songs Peter had originally planned on, but he’d take it.

“Oh,” Johnny said, twisting his fingers in Peter’s hair. “ _Oh_ , I’m – I’m going to have to move.”

Peter laughed, delighted. He walked his fingers playfully up his spine, enjoying the way Johnny shivered.

The banging stopped, abruptly, just as Peter had gotten Johnny’s shirt up over his head.

“Do you think he finally left?” Johnny asked, tilting his head so Peter had better access to his throat.

“As long as he’s not assembling a team of weirdos, I really don’t care,” Peter said, popping the button of Johnny’s jeans. He traced a hand down his thigh, ready to pick him up and take him to the nearest horizontal surface.

There was a sound like snapping wood. Peter, thrumming all over with nothing but Johnny, the warmth of his body and the softness of his lips, couldn’t identify it for a moment, especially when his spider-sense remained annoyingly silent.

“What was that?” he asked, lips brushing Johnny’s as he did.

“Just the earth moving, that’s all,” Johnny said, tugging playfully on Peter’s hair.

A familiar voice rang out, “HEY, MATCHSTICK! You in? Boy, am I bushed. Hadda little mishap with your door. Little fella out here seems pretty upset about it…”

“Oh, please no,” Johnny said before he tilted his head back laughing, clutching helplessly at Peter’s shoulders. “I’m _really_ going to have to move.”

Peter was well aware of the picture they made when Ben rounded the corner: him with his shirt hanging open, hair standing every which way from Johnny’s treatment, and Johnny with his bare chest and undone jeans, mouth red. The possessive grasp of Peter’s fingers at Johnny’s hips.

Luckily for him, Ben breezed right down the hall without so much as a glance in their direction, removing his hat and shucking his coat.

“You got any grub in this dump? I’m so starved, Galactus is starting to look like a smart cookie. Dig something up, would ya? I’m gonna freshen up. It’s a long way from Amsterdam via LatveriAir.”

He continued to amble, completely clueless, down the hall. It took Peter’s brain a moment to process his words.

“A long way from where by what now?” he said, then whined in disappointment when Johnny started working on the buttons of Peter’s shirt. Johnny cut him off with a kiss.

“Come on, get dressed,” he said, smiling at Peter. “We can have fun later.”

Johnny’s roommate was standing where his door had used to be, his jaw practically on the floor.

“Dude,” he said, pointing. “I think that was _the Thing_!”

 

* * *

 

“You’re not,” Johnny said, and Peter cut him off with another kiss before he could continue. Laughing, Johnny put his hands against Peter’s chest and pushed. Peter leaned back with a mock sigh of annoyance, still tracing Johnny’s cheek with a finger. “You’re not watching the movie.”

“I’m not supposed to be,” Peter said, moving to the shell of Johnny’s ear. He blew softly and Johnny laughed, squirming under him in a way that was less _come hither_ and more about elbowing Peter in the side. “I _told_ you to pick something you’d seen already.”

“I have seen this!” Johnny protested, flushed pink and lovely all sprawled out on Peter’s sofa. “Just not for a while. Seriously, watch this part!”

Peter leveraged himself up off Johnny, groaning like it was some terrible trial. He couldn’t really focus on the movie, though, not when he could watch Johnny instead.

It hadn’t been the easiest beginning to a relationship he’d ever had, but then he’d never faced forced separation by a Darkforce bubble and the complete and utter downfall of his professional life before. But the moment he’d gotten Johnny – exhausted, unshaven, and wearing a shirt he told Peter had something to do with Star Wars – back in his arms when he got back to New York had made the sting of Parker Industries collapsing disappear.

Or almost disappear. Peter was pretty over the ‘pre-teens chucking their useless Webware at his head whenever he showed his face in public’ phase of his life.

Losing the Baxter Building stung most of all. Peter had really thought he could do that for Johnny – keep it for him until the Fantastic Four were finally together again. It just wasn’t reasonable, Harry said. There was no way they could pay for all the lawsuits without selling it, he said. Peter knew he right, but it still hurt to watch Johnny’s face when he’d told him.

After the initial fire show and yelling, though, it had been Johnny who’d had the calmer head about it.

“I’ve lost the building before,” he’d said, tracing patterns down Peter’s bare chest in the dark. “It’s not like anybody launched it into space last time.”

“Yet,” Peter, ever the optimist, had replied.

“You didn’t belong in that office,” Johnny had continued, the glow of his eyes the only light in the dark guest bedroom of Aunt May’s apartment. “You belong on the streets and in the lab.”

“Oh, is that all?” Peter had teased, rolling over onto him.

“And here,” Johnny agreed. He wrapped a hand around the nape of Peter’s neck. “Chin up, Spider-Man. They’ll love you again soon.”

“You’re too good to me,” Peter had murmured before he kissed him, long and slow.

A lot had changed for Johnny, too. He and Ben were talking again, trying to move past the fight Johnny still wouldn’t explain to Peter, and a lawyer had turned up and announced that Johnny was Reed’s heir, leaving him buried under a pile of patents – and potentially a hell of a lot of money.

Peter had joked that he was looking forward to being the kept man. Johnny had threatened to set him on fire.

His point was -- they’d always been good for each other. And it had been good. Really good, in between the giant superhero battles and the Darkforce bubbles and Peter’s new reputation as the most hated man in tech. Peter could see Bobbi was incredibly sick of him talking about it levels of good.

“Stop staring, creep,” Johnny said, tossing a handful of popcorn at him.

“You like it,” Peter said, picking up a kernel and tossing it back at him. Johnny attempted to catch it in his mouth and failed, which made Peter laugh at him, which somehow ended up with Johnny crawling on top of him to shut him up.

Peter couldn’t complain.

“Not that we didn’t need the movie night,” Johnny said when he deemed Peter well and truly silenced, “but tomorrow I really have to go over the stuff that lawyer gave me again and I could use an extra set of eyes.”

“I’ll bring all eight of them,” Peter said, slightly preoccupied by his hand on Johnny’s ass.

“I’m being serious,” Johnny said, smirking at him. He sobered up after a second. “This is all of Reed’s work, Pete. It’s a big deal to me. _And_ it’s a lot of money. We can’t stay at your aunt's forever.”

“We can if I bar all the doors and windows while she’s out,” Peter joked. He tugged Johnny down to rest against him, his head against Peter’s shoulder, and carded his fingers through his hair as he fumbled for the remote. “Alright, tomorrow. It's a date."

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity notes:
> 
> \- Where is Johnny Storm living since the Inhuman Royals went to space! We just don't know and Marvel won't tell us! So I made him up a roommate who believes Galactus is fake, partly inspired by [The Marvel Channel: Monsters, Myths, and Marvels](http://marvel.com/comics/series/6479/the_marvels_channel_monsters_myths_and_marvels_2008).
> 
> \- Parts of the racing scene were lifted first from the upcoming Marvel Two-In-One #1 (so hype).
> 
> \- The scene where Johnny breaks into Peter's apartment with pizza takes place immediately after Infamous Iron Man #9, which I highly recommend if you enjoy Johnny Being Sad. He really did list Titanic as a top favorite movie in an in-issue interview once.
> 
> \- Aunt Jewel is a real character, sort of. Johnny and Sue really do have an aunt named Marygay Jewel Dinkins; originally, Sue meets Reed when he is renting a room at Marygay's boarding house, in John Byrne's retcon of how they met. However, Marygay doesn't actually have lines in anything I personally consider "hard canon" -- her three biggest appearances are a retcon of a retcon, a Before The Fantastic Four miniseries I don't love that doesn't have any major impact on the rest of canon, and a What If? issue. Couple that with the fact that whenever the subject of his childhood comes up, Johnny's very insistent that it was always just Sue who raised him, and I'm firmly in "I can do whatever I want" territory. Dear Marvel: I hate being in the "I can do whatever I want territory", please release the definitive Storms childhood comic. Anyway, sometimes you want to write whump about Johnny Storm's abandonment issues.
> 
> \- Johnny was recently announced as Reed's heir in Uncanny Avengers. Confusingly, later in Amazing Spider-Man, he bargained with Harry Osborn over the fate of the Baxter Building and said he only had 16k in savings. What are timelines, Marvel!
> 
> \- The very beginning of this fic is dedicated to Johnny Storm's tendency to dramatically collapse five times in space of three issues. [I got bored and started a twitter thread about it once!](https://twitter.com/hellotraincat/status/880983240932241408)
> 
> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://traincat.tumblr.com)!


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